


Neither Rest nor Requiem

by SylvanWitch



Series: In the Ruins [3]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU after OotP, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanWitch/pseuds/SylvanWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The toll has been taken; now, the counting of costs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither Rest nor Requiem

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published at RestrictedSection.org in 2004. This series is my first fanfiction endeavor.

Overnight, Molly Weasley had become a crone, bent double over her midriff like she was cradling a blow that had already come, the loss of her children a kind of reverse labor that left her wrung dry of all life. She was waxen and pale, the only shine in her eyes feverish and desperate. Only Albus and Snape could meet those eyes, which burned unnaturally, embers in the charnel house where her children's bodies burned. 

They were all gathered around the kitchen table to eat breakfast and plan strategy. The morning had dawned damp and cold, with a weak and watery light that was quickly dimmed by darker clouds. There was no discernible wind, but dampness crept under the door and around the window casings, competing with the kitchen's large hearth fire. Shacklebolt and Tonks sat side by side near the end of the table, closest to the hearth, sharing furtive glances with one another and trying to catch Snape's eye. Hagrid sat across from them, attempting now and then an innocuous topic of conversation that idled and then rolled to a halt quickly, as the Aurors lost their concentration and went back to assessing the others at the table. Albus was in the very center of the table, one seat between himself and the two Aurors. He gazed worriedly at Molly, pausing only long enough to glance meaningfully at Snape, clearly hoping that the Potions Master would offer the grieving woman some words of comfort. Snape remained characteristically and uncooperatively silent, eating with care but steadily, and downing impressive quantities of hot, black coffee. On his right was Sirius, who was picking at a sparsely covered plate of rapidly cooling food. On Black's right was Molly Weasley, who was alternating between staring intensely at Dumbledore and glaring at her food as though she found sustenance offensive. 

When he had choked down all that he could stomach, feeling his gorge sitting stubbornly in the vicinity of his throat, Dumbledore cleared his throat and attempted a tone of equanimity. 

"We have all suffered terrible losses in the last three days, none moreso than Molly here." He paused, as though offering her a chance to respond, but if he was expecting a eulogy for her beloved dead or an impassioned plea for vengeance, all he got was the clatter of a fork against a plate and the extreme focus of her hot glare, like an accusation, against his face.

He struggled for the next words with a visible effort that cost him something, if his ragged expulsion of breath were any indication,

"But we must focus our attention now on preventing further tragedies. This is what we know:"

In his element now, organized and logical, Dumbledore rattled off the list of terrifying facts without pausing for reactions or response:

"Hogwarts has been destroyed, with the exception of the Slytherin dungeons, the Hospital Wing, the outbuildings, and the Quidditch pitch. The attack was facilitated by a person or persons unknown who lowered the anti-apparation wards from within the castle. We know from Severus that at least one Slytherin, Draco Malfoy, was involved in the attack, as he was killed while setting a detonation charm. The other Slytherins are unaccounted for, as are the majority of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students. The Gryffindors are, in the greatest part, dead. Severus and I have reason to believe that the attack was timed for the faculty meeting, and it is likely that any professor attending the meeting was summarily executed. Any who may have survived likely died in the explosions. Professor Trelawney and Madam Pomfrey are confirmed dead. 

Harry Potter's remains were not among the dead."

At this, there were indrawn breaths from all except Snape and Black, who had delivered the information to Dumbledore. Tonks began,

"Albus—does that mean--?"

But the Headmaster interrupted her, "Please. Save your questions for the end. We have a great deal to discuss, and it would be best if we all shared the same information before speculating on what it might mean."

Tonks nodded vigorously, gave a sheepish half-smile, and glanced at Shacklebolt, who returned her smile with one of his own, as if to say, "You're such a rookie."

"The Death Eaters have been hunting the unicorns and centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, but there may still be pockets of resistance, and at last reckoning there was still a small band of Giants living near the edge of the forest farthest from the school. Dementors have been garrisoned at the Quidditch pitch.

Hogsmeade is occupied territory. When I last saw it, it was flying a Dark Mark over the town square; the men and boys had been herded into warded holding pens to the West of town, the women and girls in similar enclosures to the East.

I received an owl just after the attack with a message from Ollivander in Diagon Alley that they, too, were under siege, and he did not think that the Alley was likely to withstand the force of the attack. Apparently, the denizens of Knockturn Alley had lowered the defense wards from the inside. Ollivander believed that the protective wards had also been compromised on the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron.

There has been no word from the Ministry of Magic, so we must assume that it, too, has been captured. Arthur and Percy Weasley were inside at seven o'clock on the morning of the attack on Hogwarts. Molly believes that they are still alive. Tonks and Shacklebolt have had no word from any other member of the Ministry.

Any owl attempting to leave the island has been plucked from the sky by eagles trained expressly for that purpose.

The floo network is out of service.

Though it is likely still possible to use a portkey, we must assume that any safe locations have been discovered and compromised. 

Hagrid and I are with you today only because I had left the castle in the capable hands of Minerva McGonagall in order to go into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid for a meeting with the Giants. We were going to attempt to persuade them yet again to join our fight, to abandon their neutrality in favor of helping us beat Voldemort's forces. Hagrid and I had gotten only a half-league into the forest before we heard the explosion from the school. We climbed a rise, saw the smoke and the few surviving owls in frenzied gyres above the ruins, and determined that we would head for Hogsmeade. What we found there suggested that it was unwise to remain in the vicinity, so we apparated, Hagrid with my help, to a cottage not far from Godric's Hollow. There is a safe house in the Hollow, near the ruins of the Potter home, which is meant to be used only in the direst of emergencies. It's a sort of meeting-place should there be a disaster of any magnitude. Its location is known only by members of the Order of the Phoenix."

At this, both Black and Snape glanced up sharply, spearing Dumbledore with identically icy glares. Snape gained his voice first,

"So nice of you to inform us of the whereabouts of said safe house, Albus. I can understand why you might mistrust me with the information, but surely Black has earned your trust. He did, after all, keep a secret for twelve years. Of course, no one was really listening to him, then, were they?" Each word fell from his lips in a vapor of icy contempt. Tonks looked as though she might say something to defend the Headmaster, and Hagrid began to rise noisily from his chair, but Albus made a calming gesture with his hand to forestall dissension and both resumed their watchful silence.

"Severus, it is true that I chose to keep the location from both you and Sirius, but not because I do not trust you. Rather, given that you were, until recently, subjected to terrible mental probes and physical torture to extract such information, I felt it best for your safety if you did not need to expend effort to conceal the location of such a place.

As for you, Sirius, I knew that in your capacity as a spy in animagus form, you were more likely to be captured than any of the other members of the Order, save Severus. I did not feel that I could risk giving you the information, lest you reveal it under the pain of torture or the lure of Veritaserum.

Please understand, Severus, Sirius, that it was never a matter of my personal trust in you."

"No," responded Snape, his tone sardonic in the extreme. "It was merely expedient that we be sacrificed in case of emergency. I understand." And he did. He did not like that Dumbledore had made such a pragmatic choice, but he understood it. Sirius, on the other hand, was clearly beside himself with what he perceived as betrayal.

"Expedient? Do you know how we lived for those two days, Dumbledore? Do you know that we were hunted in our bed? Do you know what it took for us to survive at all, the dumb luck, the sheer, unbelievable circumstances of our survival? But I guess that didn't matter to you. We were likely dead, anyway, right? Why comb through the wreckage for our bodies—there were far more important people to worry about than your pet Death-Eater and the pathetic Azkaban escapee, right? Do you know that I can still smell the stench of the dead in my hair—" He stopped abruptly, his voice breaking, and clenched his fists against the tabletop, trying to command himself. He was startled to feel one small, cold hand wrap around his right fist and squeeze gently.

"No one has thanked you, Sirius, for what you and Severus did. I want you to know that I appreciate your finding—" she took a deep breath—"finding my babies. I understand that you couldn't bury them, but at least you gave them a moment of respect. At least I know what happened to them, where they are. I can be glad of that. Not like poor Harry—"

Sirius jerked his hand away from her and brought them together over his face. He took in a deep breath against his hands, the breath whistling between his clenched fingers. When he lowered them, palms flat against the table, he was paler but in control. 

"What do you plan to do about Harry, Dumbledore?" If the Headmaster noticed the deliberate use of his last name, sans title, he did not show it. Instead, he answered cautiously, as though attempting to soothe a horse in danger of bolting.

"We do not know the full scope of the situation, Sirius. While it seems reasonable to assume that he is alive, it is equally likely that he is in the hands of Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Until we know his precise location and—condition—we can do nothing that does not risk greater harm for the boy. I know that this is terribly hard for you, Sirius, but I must ask you to be patient."

Sirius growled with frustration but kept his tongue, only glancing at Snape to see his reaction to Dumbledore's pronouncement. Snape's face was utterly devoid of expression.

"What about the Ministry?" Shacklebolt asked, his deep voice calm, dispassionate.

"Before Molly left the Burrow, her clock informed her that both were 'In Mortal Danger.' Prior to that, it indicated that they were 'At Work.' Therefore, it is logical to conclude that, given the hour, they were both still at work when they became imperiled. Your own lack of communication with colleagues or superiors would seem to corroborate this conclusion."

The Aurors both nodded thoughtfully.

"I think that we need someone to do reconnaissance at both the Ministry and in Diagon Alley. The former should be a far less dangerous assignment than the latter, though both harbor no small risk. It would also be to our benefit to devise a means of indicating our whereabouts to any ally who might need refuge, though any attempt at such a beacon might have the opposite effect of bringing our enemies to our door."

Snape moved suddenly, as though surprised into motion by a thought, and said, sharply, "How is it that you all came to be here, Albus?"

Dumbledore gave a low but genuine chuckle, then, "Ah, my boy. Would you believe that that was entirely coincidence? It seems Nymphadora came here once as a very little girl. She does not remember why she was brought, only that it was a place once known for hanging pirates. Seeing a certain...ah...dramatic irony in our using it as a safe haven, she suggested it. We arrived yesterday afternoon and immediately detected the presence of other magic, which led us to the shop where we found you. You know the rest."

Snape was giving Tonks a steady, appraising look, as though he could extract her secrets merely by looking. In fact, he may have been attempting legilimens, but he did not seem to find what he was looking for, for he shifted his gaze abruptly back to Dumbledore and said,

"I will volunteer to scout out Diagon Alley, Albus. There are...passages in Knockturn Alley that I know well from my youth. I believe that I may be able to find a way in that is less obvious than through the Leaky Cauldron."

But Albus had begun shaking his head even as Snape had been speaking.

"No, Severus. You are far too well known among the Death Eaters to risk the confined spaces of Diagon Alley. I believe that Tonks is also familiar with Knockturn Alley?" The young woman, now sporting cobalt-blue hair and bright green eyes, nodded enthusiastically, cracking her gum and smiling. 

"If you are willing, Sirius, I would like you to trail Tonks in your alternate form. If she gets into any trouble, is captured or otherwise compromised, you can report to us. Can you do this?"

Sirius nodded once, hard, without looking at either the Headmaster or the perky Auror.

"I believe, Severus, that you might be better suited to skulking about the Ministry with Kingsley. I happen to know of a secret entrance, long forgotten by most, that may still be unguarded. Kingsley knows his way around the Ministry far better than you, but you can be his shadow and report if he is captured or compromised in any way. Are you amenable to this arrangement, Severus?"

Severus said, face blank, deep voice hard, "Of course."

"Hagrid, I need you to guard the perimeter, watching particularly for any suspicious bird or animal movement. Voldemort has been known to use familiars as his spies."

Severus seemed to have thought of something else, for he said,

"Albus, do you know whether or not Voldemort is aware of your having survived the attack?"

Albus shook his head sagely, a gleam in his eye that was not entirely friendly. "No, Severus, we do not. However, the Death Eaters who killed the staff would surely have known that I was not among the immediately dead, and I would wager that his Death Eaters began searching the ruins shortly after they rousted you from the Shrieking Shack. It would have been their priority to determine exactly who had died, much as it was our priority last night. I'd imagine that Voldemort is not too happy with his Slytherin spies right now. Hagrid and I used the utmost circumspection in our morning journey to the Forest."

Satisfied, Severus nodded once, decisively, but said nothing.

"Molly," continued the elder wizard, "If you are up to it, I would like you to help me create a beacon spell to draw in our allies, to let them know that we are here and that there is safe harbor even in this time of greatest distress. Are you willing?"

Molly marshaled her composure and said, tremulously, "I am, Albus. I would like to help." But she could not hold his gaze. Indeed, the fire had left her eyes, and in its place there were only dark hollows, like twin spots of hopelessness. She scratched at the table's surface with her thumb, the nail of which was bitten to the quick, then caught herself, and wrung her hands together.

"Do any of you have any further questions or concerns?" He paused long enough to divine that there were none.

"I would like you all to return here no later than three o'clock this afternoon, unless circumstances prevent you from getting away. Do the best you can in the time you have. For now, it seems safe enough to apparate. We've had no indication that Voldemort has found a way to trace apparation spells, so you may come and go that way unless we discover otherwise." 

There was a chorus of chair legs scraping against the floor as each rose to fetch necessary items from their respective rooms. Snape followed Black from the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the bedroom they shared. As the Potions Master closed the door, Black speared him with a sharp glance and said,

"Do you think that Dumbledore is telling us everything that he knows?"

Snape gave a dry laugh, "What's the matter, Black? Have you lost faith in our fearless leader?"

Black's face tightened. "Have you always got to be such a prat, Snape? Just answer the question, damn it!"

Snape moved past Black to the wardrobe and began searching through the clothes that hung there, fingering materials and sizing up trousers with a disdainful eye. He didn't answer Black for the longest moment, but just as Black was about to fill the silence with another question, Snape said,

"I think that Dumbledore is a man who keeps his own counsel. One does not survive long-term political appointments in the wizarding world without a great deal of Machiavellian wherewithal."

"He said much the same thing about you just last night."

At this, Snape stopped in mid-motion, so that his robe, which he had been in the process of removing, covered only the upper half of his body, revealing his boxers and long, lean legs. He merely quirked one eyebrow inquiringly and said, "Indeed." What might have been an admiring little laugh followed, and he resumed undressing, turning back to the wardrobe to liberate a bulky black wool jumper from its shelf above the hanging clothes.

"And Machiavellian?" Black asked, puzzled.

Snape just tsked, said something under his breath that Black couldn't quite catch, and then responded, "A Muggle author known for his eminently pragmatic advice in matters of a political nature."

"Ah," said Black, "So you do believe that Dumbledore is lying to us?"

"What I believe is that we will never divine the depths of Dumbledore's knowledge nor motives, and there is no sense in trying right now. We are far better off spending this little time preparing ourselves for the likely taxing duties ahead."

Black, taking Snape's not-so-subtle hint, moved toward the wardrobe as well. 

"If these trousers are a little long on me, they are far too long to be comfortable on you. Perhaps you should try the other rooms."

Black had been wearing a Muggle bathrobe they had found hanging in the wardrobe that morning. At Snape's words, Black shrugged, said, "I'll modify the length with my wand," and began assessing the jeans that were neatly folded and stacked in the wardrobe's interior drawer. Choosing a pair and a forest green jumper, he moved back a pace and removed the robe, revealing a tight pair of briefs in a tiger-striped pattern. Snape's eyes moved from the scant covering to Black's face and back again, and it was Black's turn to chuckle dryly,

"I hardly think that Shacklebolt will wait for you to shag me senseless before we go. What happened to 'preparing ourselves for the likely taxing duties ahead'?"

Snape snorted scornfully. "Don't flatter yourself, Black. I was merely thinking that those briefs are rather in opposition to your inner nature."

Black threw the bathrobe at him.

When they were both dressed, except for their shoes, which had been cleaned and repaired and were waiting below near the kitchen door, they stopped for a moment near the threshold of their room to look at one another. 

"It seems like we're making a habit of this," said Black, recalling the moments before they'd burst out of separate doors from the fish-and-chips shop and into what they had expected to be a deadly fight.

"Don't be melodramatic, Black. It suits neither of us well."

"Does nothing frighten you, Snape?" Black asked, softly, trying to catch the other man's gaze.

"First year potions students, Madam Hooch's social skills, and Dumbledore's penchant for dancing," he ticked off lightly against his outstretched fingers.

Black closed the gap between them without another word and leaned up to kiss the taller man. Snape returned the kiss cautiously, as though testing a potion that might be poisonous, then deepened it, holding Sirius' face still between his two, longfingered hands, so that his face was cradled there, still within a black curtain of Black's hair. When Snape finally broke the kiss, he pulled back to brush a strand of Black's hair from his face. "Tie this back," he ordered.

"Yes, dear," Black singsonged. Snape made a sound low in his throat, like a growl, and preceded Black out of the door.

*****

At the stroke of three exactly, the kitchen door swung inward on creaking hinges and a gust of cold air, like wind from a tomb, blew into the room, followed closely by Tonks and Sirius, who were shaking rain out of their hair and laughing about something that was apparently hysterically funny. 

Both froze in mid-stride, half-turned toward the kitchen table, mouths still open but laughs dying in their throats. Sitting at the table was Hagrid, tears streaming down his face, shaking hands holding an enormous tankard that was in danger of spilling from the violence of his motion. He did not sob outright, but his great, bear-like shoulders moved convulsively under his heavy coat, and when he saw them staring at him, he looked quickly away, towards the fire at the other end of the table. 

"Hagrid, what's happened?" one of them asked, at the same time the other said,

"Is it Albus?"

Hagrid just shook his head, satisfying neither question nor questioners, in whom dread was rising like a sudden storm, sweeping ice water through their bellies.

Sirius' throat was suddenly dry, "Is it Sever—Snape?"

Again, the indefinite shaking of the shaggy head.

"Hagrid, please!" Tonks pleaded, panic now clear in her voice. "What is it? What's happened?"

Finally, after a long pause and a great snuffling and in-drawing of breaths, Hagrid said, voice raw with tears, 

"It's Fang," he managed to sob out, gesturing at the hearthrug, which they could not see from their statue-like poses near the door.

Moving around the table opposite Hagrid, Sirius was first to see the great hound lying curled on the rug, apparently sound asleep. He looked back at Hagrid inquiringly, but Hagrid could manage only an anguished shake of his head. Sirius extended his other senses, the ones honed by so much time in dog form, and realized that he could detect no heartbeat or respiration from the great beast, who usually chuffed or snorted in his restless sleep. Tonks, behind him, seemed to realize at the same time, for she said, sadly,

"Oh, Hagrid. I'm so sorry. What happened to him?"

A voice weighted with too much grief, as though it had never been raised in joyous shout or gentle song, answered from the doorway,

"Fang was sent as one of Voldemort's familiars. He'd been brutalized and driven mad. The best that we can figure, he was under a sort of Imperius Curse for animalkind. He found Hagrid in the garden, sniffed about a bit, and then started to act suspiciously. When he began to run back the way he had come, Hagrid followed. It wasn't long before he figured out what had happened. He captured Fang, but the dog was mad, utterly mad. I had no choice but to—." Dumbledore's voice trailed off, weighted with words unsaid.

"'e bit me," Hagrid said, a depth of sorrow in his voice like distant horns at twilight playing a dirge for the dying day. "All these years an' 'e never once did. But 'e wasn't 'imself, tha's all. 'e canna be blamed."

Sirius rounded the table and placed a firm hand against the half-giant's hunched shoulder. "You did all that you could, Hagrid. Speaking from my own experience, I know that Fang wouldn't have wanted to live like that."

Hagrid sighed deeply, and said, "I know yer righ'. I jus' miss 'im so." And he began to sob once more.

Sirius slumped heavily into the seat beside Hagrid, still keeping one hand on the other man's shoulder, the movements of which like a constant, gentle earthquake under his hand. Sirius looked up at Dumbledore and said, quietly, 

"Shacklebolt and Severus?"

"No word yet, but it's only shortly after the rendezvous hour. I'm sure that they are fine, Sirius."

He nodded distractedly, glancing at Tonks, who said, "Would you like to debrief us now, Albus?"

The tiniest hint of a smile curled the very edges of his mouth, and he said, "Debrief?," rolling the word off of his tongue like a new, untried candy. 

Tonks returned a sheepish grin and shrugged, "It's what we call it at the Ministry. You know, official Auror lingo."

Dumbledore mouthed "lingo" to himself and smiled again, a little more definitely. Just as he pulled a chair out and began to seat himself, the kitchen door burst open, ushering in a stronger blast of chiller wind that drove the loosened panes of glass to hum mournfully in their fittings.

Shacklebolt came in first, arms full of something—someone!—wrapped in a black cloak. Sirius rose, Severus' name on his lips, but hung there suspended in mid-breath as he saw the Potions Master enter behind the tall Auror. Snape came in only far enough to close the door, an action that seemed to take more effort than was strictly necessary, even given the opposing wind, then stood in a posture more rigidly attentive than was normal, his forearms across his stomach, hands clenching the opposite elbow tightly. He seemed to be holding his breath.

Shacklebolt laid the bundle on the kitchen table gently, smoothing the draping hood back from the figure's face. As he did so, a long, pale strand of dirty-blonde hair fell out onto the table, followed by several more. 

"Merlin! It's Ms. Lovegood! How is it that she is with you?"

But before the most recent arrivals could answer, Molly Weasley bustled into the kitchen carrying a large, stoppered bottle full of a luminous yellow liquid. When she saw the girl on the table, she let out a gasp, nearly dropping the bottle. Dumbledore hastened to relieve her of it, and she moved swiftly to the unconscious girl's side.

Looking up at the circle of staring faces, she fixed an accusing glare on Dumbledore and said, "Albus, what is the meaning of this?" But before he could even take in a full breath to answer, she went right on, in high maternal dudgeon, "She must be freezing. This robe is soaked through! Shame on all of you for leaving her like this, and on this hard table, too! I'm taking her upstairs right now for a hot bath and some dry clothes, and once she's tucked in I'll see about getting some soup down her." Turning to Hagrid, in a gentler tone than any she had used since the whole ordeal had begun, she said, "Hagrid, would you help me bring her upstairs?"

Hagrid, dragging his head up with obvious effort, focused on Molly and gave a slight nod, at the same time levering himself up from the table with his full weight on two enormous hands. The oak table groaned in protest but held, and he moved slowly to the girl's side, lifting her, seemingly without effort, and exiting the kitchen. Ahead of him, from somewhere above, they could clearly hear Molly's voice drifting down, "Hurry along, now, Hagrid dear. We need to get the poor thing warm right away!" 

Albus returned his questioning gaze to Kingsley, who was still standing near the table where he'd deposited the young woman. Snape was still standing unnaturally erect by the door. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, but Sirius arrived at the same conclusion simultaneously and was first to say, his tone deceptively light,

"Why are you standing there like that Snape? Dog got your tongue?" Black smirked and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Snape moved stiffly toward the nearest empty chair, moving one hand only long enough to brace himself against the table, and then lower himself backwards, slowly, almost mincingly, into the chair.

Black's questioning gaze sharpened and then shifted to Shacklebolt, who had moved to sit in another chair, this one across the table. He moved far less gingerly, and when seated, he answered,

"Snape ran afoul of a rather nasty Eviscerate Curse," the black Auror began, but Dumbledore cut him off,

"How badly are you hurt, Severus? Where did it hit you?" The Headmaster was out of his seat and around the table with impressive speed, pulling a chair up close next to Snape and laying one insistent hand on the two that were crossed protectively over Snape's lower abdomen.

At Albus' touch, Snape hissed, jerking back and then wincing, even in mid-wince marshalling his iron control to smooth his features back into a blank mask. 

But Dumbledore had deduced what had caused the other man pain and moved instead to slide his jumper up along his left forearm, which he clutched uppermost against his stomach. The dark mark was a livid green glow, washing Snape and Dumbledore in its graverot light. 

"How long has your Mark been active, Severus?" 

Through teeth audibly clenched, the Potions Master said, "An hour."

Shacklebolt added, "I think it's what caused him to be hit with the curse to begin with. One minute we were side by side, running toward the secret tunnel with Luna, and the next minute he was splayed against the wall, gripping his arm and shouting for me to go on. The next thing I knew, he'd been grazed by a curse, and I sent Luna on ahead of me and ran back to pull Snape along."

A derisive snort from the man in question, who managed to exude disdain even as he sucked in a sudden, desperate breath, the pain tearing an agonizing path through his chest, hitting his diaphragm and attempting to squeeze all of the air from his body even as he tried to breathe. 

"There's time enough for a report later, Albus. You need to help him," said Sirius, his voice dangerous with barely leashed rage. He was clenching and unclenching his fists on the tabletop, the strain running up to his shoulders and into his neck, visibly raising the veins there, on into his jaw, the muscles of which bulged under the pressure of his closed teeth.

Tonks said, suddenly, "Sirius, what is wrong with you?" But the animagus merely growled low and barely audible, then stood so quickly that his chair tipped over, the ladderback bouncing hollowly with a clatter as of jumbled catacomb bones against the floor.

Sirius just shook his head once, sharply, his eyes focused on Snape, who was sitting rigidly in his chair, trying not to breathe, not to move. The animagus stalked toward him gracefully, and Albus moved back in his chair so that he was no longer touching the Potions Master. Sirius looked at him directly, his gaze drilling into Albus' intentions:

"You can help him." It wasn't a question, but Dumbledore nodded mutely. "Then do it."

Dumbledore said, contritely, "Of course you're right, Sirius. Our first priority should be to ease his pain. We can discuss our findings after Severus has been made more comfortable."

If Sirius noticed that Dumbledore had not promised that he could heal the other man, he did not acknowledge it, merely moving to stand close by Snape's side. He looked down at his lover, whose pale face was waxy and drawn, cold sweat beading on his brow. "Can I help you, or will it hurt more for me to touch you?"

Snape, long beyond the ability to make a witty comeback, nodded in a disjointed way, as though answering a different question. All of his concentration was focused on maintaining control. Between the Dark Mark, which now burned its way up through his skin from his fingertips to his left collarbone, a gauntlet of terribly agony, and the wound across his abdomen, which throbbed with every breath in or out, Snape was not sure if he could speak, much less move. 

Sirius understood without words, however. Taking his wand from his back jeans pocket, he raised it and said softly, "Stupefy." Then, as the Potions Master slumped, unconscious, in his chair, he said, "Mobilicorpus," and began to negotiate Snape's body carefully through the maze of table and chairs, out the door, and up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with the injured man, trying to ignore the wet and alarmingly steady drip-drip of blood as it fell from the immobile man.

Once they were all in the bedroom, Sirius asked Kingsley to help him remove Snape's clothes, which the two men were able to make short work of. It's a good thing Snape's unconscious, Black thought. He'd have a fit if he knew he was nearly naked in front of Merlin and everybody. He dismissed the incongruous thought and carefully peeled away the jumper where it was sodden and sticking to the wound beneath. He sucked in his breath at what he saw. Tonks moved without being told into the adjacent bathroom, and water could be heard running in the tub. She returned momentarily with a soft, wet flannel, offering it to Sirius, who took it and began to clean away the gore.

Albus said to Shacklebolt, "How long has it been, Kingsley?"

Kingsley stared at the ceiling for a long, considering breath, and then said, "Forty-five minutes, perhaps an hour, no more."

"And do you know, has he been bleeding steadily?"

"It was a near thing, Albus, trying to get through that tunnel. Luna was stunned just as we reached the mouth, and I had to carry her, so I couldn't attend to Snape. Then, we had to run a good distance to escape the anti-apparation wards around the Ministry." The Auror finished with a shrug, "I should think he's lost a good deal of blood, Albus."

Albus nodded solemnly. Sirius had not looked up once during the exchange but was working with slow and steady motions to clean up the gaping wound. Tonks was taking bloodied flannels away and returning with clean, wet towels, the two in a steady pattern of exchange with no words.

Albus moved to Black's side, and though the man growled a little in his throat, Albus this time did not yield. "That is enough, Sirius. I intend him no harm, and you must stand aside so that I may see the wound clearly."

Sirius moved, stiff-legged, half of a pace away, gaze glued to Snape's face, which was slack under the influence of the spell. 

After several long moments, in which Black rewrote his future several times, Albus looked up with an expression of satisfaction. "The spell did not puncture the peritoneum. There is some muscle damage, but nothing that I cannot repair. We can disinfect the wound with a thyme and garlic wash, and I can heal it once it's clean. The blood loss is what most concerns me, but I believe that he will recover given ample food and rest. He's going to be fine, Sirius."

"Thank you," the animagus said tersely, then, more softly, "Thank you, Albus."


End file.
